Beyond Resurrection
by Katkero
Summary: His past clings to him, and he to it.
1. Go Under

This is the sequel to It Won't Die, but that one was so clearly structured like a one-shot that I figured I'd write the continuation as a separate story. (This one will have multiple chapters, no idea how many yet though.) Read the one-shot first if you want, but it shouldn't be necessary.

* * *

As with every time Crocodile felt another chapter of his life come to a close, this too started with him unable to stand the sight of old familiar faces. Whitebeard's had become unbearable long ago, really, but as Crocodile now lay nearly unconscious bearing the man's wounds, the only lucid thought in his mind was telling him this was truly the end of something he would never regain nor recover from. He wasn't the only one hurt, of course, and he could feel his crew seethe at him all the way from the remains of their deck.

His pack of jackals that had run with him right down to this point, past the death of their original captain and the stain of their shared origins, was finally done with him. With this, they were _all_ done with one another and the weight they couldn't shake off in one another's company. Whitebeard had brought to an end what the end of their childhood in the shadow of war couldn't, what famine and decay and knowing they would always remain trash under the hollow shell of their ill-gotten gains couldn't. They were done for. It was the way it had to be.

_Marines!_

The room was in constant whirling motion even in the darkness, even with the damp cloth covering his eyes. Crocodile gingerly touched his right arm to the wall to gain some sense of stability. The blunt, spiteful throb of the bruises being disturbed at least cleared his rattled brain enough for him to concentrate on the voices outside.

_"Damn it to hell. We can't win like this."_

Of course they couldn't. Too wounded to fight, and apparently even too wounded to run away. It wasn't exactly a source of distress to Crocodile that they would have to go down with him. He weakly dragged his fingers across the wall, trying to summon the strength to bring it down.

"Get ready! Stand up! _Get ready!_"

He had a feeling this was the last chance in a long time he would be able to use his power.

"No, wait, is that..."

There was sand between his teeth, on his breath. There was a split second of clarity during which he still wasn't sure if his body was readying itself for another battle or disintegrating. And there was a blessed darkness that washed over his disoriented mind like mercy.

"...been causing us a lot of trouble, that captain of yours..."

Voices muffled, pain dulled. His hand felt like something distant and foreign brushing across his face.

"...small fry like you, why fight for the likes of him when you could..."

He could no more make sense of the garish rays of light coming through the holes in the wall than he could of the dark under the cloth. His skin felt dry when he should have been covered in cold sweat.

"I'm sure we can come to an understanding. Smart, sensible people like you, eh?"

He didn't hear the rest of the proposal and didn't have to. He pulled his left arm under himself and pushed his body up even as his mind was drowning.

They were in at last, with nobody stopping them. Unlike Crocodile, they were rested and had no trouble seeing in the shadowed room. No trouble stopping what they thought was the captain's attempt at lashing out at them with what little he had left. As they pinned Crocodile to the floor with seastone hard enough that he vomited sand and the remaining dregs of his consciousness on the cracked boards, his last thought was not of his dignity but of the devil whose power he had taken into his flesh and who would now be sealed away. He had found the fruit long, long ago; it had tasted repulsive, but in his hunger he had even devoured the thick stem and licked the foul juice off his fingers when he was done. The power he had been awarded with for this selfish deed had been with him even when nothing else remained. He couldn't protect that which had protected him for so many years.

And as the marines took him away, his pirate crew of just as many years quietly retired in comfort with means they had agreed not to disclose to anyone; the sea was vast and tumultuous, and easier though it was for lesser crewmembers to fall off the radar, even the pirate captain Crocodile disappeared from the world with few questions asked and fewer answered.


	2. Make Believe

_No point in remembering things like that_, Crocodile told himself for the fifth time that day, sparing one last glance at the still warm corpse of the great death worm he had finished off. He shook some of the blood off his hook. Something rattled inside the base. _Everything is the exact opposite of back then. There's no reason to dwell on the past like this._

He knew well the reason for his bad mood, naturally, ignore it as he did. It was the desert island they were on. Too much like Sandy Island and the closed chapter in his life it represented to him. He had actually liked this place during his first visit all those years ago and had liked his first look at Alabasta too, all because of a few good memories.

A few good memories hardly made up for all the unpleasant ones. But he was above useless brooding now, right? Right.

"This one's young. We'll be able to use the meat for food."

"Yes, sir," said the nearest member of the crew Crocodile had sworn he would never again have need for, here in the New World he had sworn never again to return to. There seemed to be quite a lot of things he said and only half-believed or outright turned his back on.

The next memory made him frown again, and his eyes almost unwittingly turned to the man at fault for that. Apparently Daz had made good use of the time Crocodile had spent basking in the shadow of his past and killed another death worm. Its hideous red flesh still twitched after its life had ended, disturbing the white sand. "And gather some of the acid glands for me if you can find intact ones," Crocodile added. What was it that Daz had said to him after their first professional disagreement? That thing he had finally managed to spit out after much glowering and goading and barely suppressed irritation on Crocodile's part?

Well, of course Crocodile remembered that too, at least when he wanted to. Daz had accused him of saying one thing with his mouth and another with his actions. Who was he to say that like it was a bad thing? From what Crocodile had heard, Daz had said some things in Alabasta that made him quite guilty of it too.

He sighed, chewing on his half-smoked cigar; there he went again with Alabasta. The failure there at the time had felt like his last chance slipping from his fingers, that's all. Years of preparation when he had done right all that he had previously done wrong, all the traces of his broken utopia flushed down the drains of the desert kingdom with the ecstatic first rain on the last page of that chapter. No wonder it still discoloured even his better memories with its triumph.

But he remembered something else too, that moment when all the pieces of the puzzle he made were falling into place and he only had to establish himself as the hero of the kingdom. That moment when he finally knew that the world truly belonged to the cruel and the powerful. Cruelty was something Crocodile already knew much of; all he needed to go with it was power. And he had seen his chance in one of the numerous pirate ships targeting Alubarna, and walked towards the city to shape his destiny.

Crocodile smiled for the first time that day. That had been a good day. "There's a city not too far from here," he told his fellow pirates as they finished packing up the meat and the acid he would later use to refill his poison hook, "want to indulge yourselves?"

The resounding cheer from his crew could probably be heard all the way at the city gates. And so what? The citizens themselves had chosen not to place the island under an Emperor's protection. Crocodile shook his hook again. No strange sounds this time; he was ready. The other pirates were already far ahead, spurred by the rare show of benevolence on their captain's part.

All except Daz, of course. Crocodile nodded at him, grinning. "Shall we?" Daz nodded back, and they proceeded.

Crocodile too was going to indulge himself, only in a way that required him to stall his attack a bit. He could see now the white buildings of Alubarna in his mind's eye, the difference this time being that it was not pirates whose blood was about to stain those immaculate walls. He lit a new cigar, watching the dust already raised by the frenzy of the first stages of the assault. Alabasta cried out for a saviour.

Too bad it only got him.

* * *

Death worms were nicked from the real world legend of the Mongolian death worm.

Sorry for the bite-sized chapters, by the way! I'm very bad at finishing longer stories, and uploading little and often rather than a long chapter every few months helps me finish this thing before Oda reveals Crocodile's real backstory and all.


	3. Pull the Trigger

As expected of an independent New World island, quite a few guards and self-proclaimed protectors of the city had some knowledge of haki, some of them even capable of defending themselves against Crocodile's deadliest. Crocodile himself quickly engaged the most skilled of them, a local prodigy - not because he thought his underlings couldn't deal with him or even to make an example of him, nothing natural and sensible like that. This brat and his ilk had just put up too much of a fight for Crocodile's tastes that day. He would crush this insect merely as an outlet for his own returning bad mood.

The annoying little bastard was incredibly fast and had actually managed to scratch Crocodile with his haki-powered throwing knives, screaming out his name that Crocodile didn't care about as part of his battle cry and apparently performing some sort of martial art based on jumping around like an idiot while he was at it. Were he old enough to leave the island and experience the full harshness of the sea, perhaps the bitter brines of the world would eventually temper his obnoxiousness.

Perhaps. The brat dodged a Barchan and sent out a knife that licked the side of Crocodile's arm, finally drawing blood. There was no way this kid was ever going to see the day he would be allowed to set sail. Quick as a striking scorpion, Crocodile lashed out with his hook while avoiding the last flying knife; taking advantage of the motion, the kid summoned all of his strength and speed and stomped down on the base before leaping into the air and landing boots first on Crocodile's bent back.

Two things happened in those few seconds: first, Crocodile realised just how frail his opponent was when out of weapons. He _was_ incredibly fast and able to hit Logia users, but there was barely enough strength in his kick to make Crocodile's knees budge. Second... he had just touched his back. Not only touched it, but stepped on it. The weak pressure between Crocodile's shoulder blades and on his hook hand shot right through him, cutting less like a physical attack and more like an exposed secret. His left arm whipped back with little input from his conscious mind and caught flesh and bone.

_A weak man with his foot on his back, pinning him down. Seastone in the shoe, more in the shackles._

The kid shrieked when Crocodile slammed him to the ground, blood-slick hook slipping out of the gaping wound in his side with ease. Although his kick had been next to useless in terms of physical damage, Crocodile's left arm trembled.

_Metal caressing his hand, testing, enjoying. The man took his time deciding the exact right spot before preparing the instrument. _

The insufferable little shit had the nerve to stand up. Seeing red, Crocodile struck him back down with his hook.

_Upon finding it, he pressed down hard enough to make the bones creak. "Here's fine."_

Unable to speak at last, the boy only gagged against the hand that cracked his skull into the nearest wall. His eyes filled with frustrated tears - ones that went unspilled, but Crocodile felt them quite clearly along with the rest of his fluids. He glared deep into those eyes, growling: "So you were the young hope of this island."

_He didn't scream when he was finally disfigured, but he did grit his teeth against the humiliation of being forced on his knees. The man noticed; people like him usually did._

The kid flailed his shrivelled arms uselessly, eyes rolling back in his head. Crocodile didn't stop with the moisture of his body. Didn't stop with the skin of his corpse.

_He had lived on his knees in the life he had left behind. He would do so again in the life now before him. _

There was not much left of his opponent by the time he was through with him. Even less of his fury now that he had done away with this last obstacle. He pulled back his arm, muscles still stiff as if in anticipation of another attack, and let the body fall to the ground. Some of the driest bones shattered and exploded into dust on impact.

_But he would stand again, and never be weak again..._

The fingertips brushing his arm were considerate enough to not touch the wound directly, but Crocodile was jolted out of his memory so violently that he jerked himself away from the contact with far more urgency than was possibly needed, turning into sand a blink of an eye later than he should have. Daz pulled his hand back too, startled.

"You're bleeding," he said and managed to make it sound like an apology.

Crocodile narrowed his eyes. "I can tell."

There were the heaviest silences between them these days. Something that had been natural and quietly accepted since Alabasta was turning into something even Crocodile couldn't have looked in the eye were it an enemy; in these moments, more and more often as they progressed in the New World, the weight of unspoken words could rival seastone itself.

_Never be weak again._

Daz was the first to look away. "We're ready to start carrying off the loot."

"Then do so."

It couldn't have been that Daz had used haki to be able to touch him. Crocodile could tell when it was that. That actually made it worse; it had to mean that Daz had reached out expecting Crocodile not to disintegrate on contact. He looked at his first mate across the widening distance, brows furrowing.

He didn't even think of the rest of the crew by name whenever he could avoid it. Daz alone was getting too close to his guarded core, too sharp at the edges. One of these days Crocodile was going to slip and cut himself on them.


	4. Reverie for Two

When Crocodile was a young man, a revolutionary had come to his island. He hadn't called himself that back then, but in hindsight it had been clear as day that the seeds of his mutiny against the world were sown long ago. Although he had seen these things before, terrible things, it had been his first aftermath of a civil war. And Crocodile, yet holding on to his first shameful dream, had still been trusting enough to entertain the man's curiosity and answer his questions.

Crocodile and Dragon. Together they could have torn the world apart in the manner of their choosing. Instead, Dragon eventually left to build his army against the world while Crocodile took to the sea with some of his fellow survivors. He hadn't been captain first, but soon he was, as was proper when a superior officer died and the next in chain of command survived.

A year or more passed easily between their meetings, and every time both had taken several steps closer to their dreams. The Pirate King had been executed. More nations had fallen. Crocodile had grown more cunning than ever, more in control of his power than ever, and eventually entered the New World full of ferocity. There had been wealth. There had been power. There had been dreams to follow, waves to follow, and deliverance from memories that chained him to his past.

And there had been Whitebeard. The scars he had inflicted wouldn't be healed until Marineford, several years later. The scars inflicted by others, because of him, would heal never.

It was two years after Crocodile sailed out of _that_ place that he met with Dragon again. The revolutionary had grown more powerful in the years between them, whereas Crocodile had been stripped of all that he had achieved. It wasn't an insurmountable loss. He would get back on his feet again, as he always had before.

"I heard about something terrifying hidden in Alabasta," he said, "and I heard you might have some information on it."

"I must admit I'm impressed by your intelligence gathering skills if you've heard that much." Dragon blew into his tea. "Is that what you've been doing all these years in the New World?"

Crocodile watched him take a sip before continuing. "You could certainly say so. I had a rare opportunity."

"Then you must have something to exchange for my information?"

With a nod, Crocodile reached for a thick envelope hidden in an inside pocket of his coat. The seal it bore was immediately recognisable; Dragon normally wasn't one to show his emotions, but this made his eyes widen. "How did you..." he began and caught himself almost immediately, eyes flicking down to Crocodile's hands, gloved although he would normally waste no chance at flaunting his wealth.

Crocodile smiled slowly; these days smiles came easy to him. "Before the Holy Land burned to the ground, I was able to save some things from the fire." His smile turned hard at the edges. "Those belonged to quite an influential Celestial Dragon. They would be very useful to you."

"...yes." Dragon didn't have to look at the documents to believe that, yet he hesitated.

"I didn't waste precious time bemoaning my fate up there, Dragon. If this is not enough, I can tell you some of the interesting things I was able to overhear."

"This is enough." Dragon reached into the envelope and leafed through some of the documents, a serious look on his face. That was good; clearly he could appreciate Crocodile's efforts in securing knowledge for him in a life-threatening situation. Then his eyes turned up, a faraway look trying to creep into them, and noticed the other cup still untouched on the desk. "You're not drinking that?"

Crocodile avoided looking down. "No," he said. _I can't, _an involuntary tightening around his eyes and mouth added.

The revolutionary leader, quite familiar with any of the several reasons one might have for refusing a drink he hadn't poured himself, was gentle enough to let it go. "What will you do with Alabasta?"

The tension hadn't quite left Crocodile's eyes. "Transform it," he murmured, "break it, and remould it as a weapon." Ash fell from his cigar on the narrow strip of flesh uncovered by sleeve or glove. It took him several seconds to notice. "I did a lot of thinking in Mariejois... how many years I wasted fighting in somebody else's war back there, that sort of thing. How many years I wasted serving somebody else's needs up there." He gathered the ash between his thumb and index finger and ground it into fine dust. It was practically invisible on the black leather. "And what gave me strength every day was the thought that I could someday be one of the tyrants rather than one of the downtrodden. I've wasted enough years, Dragon. Now is the time."

Dragon took another sip of his tea. The other one remained untouched. "Tyrants..."

"And when I reach my own goals, another pawn of the World Government falls." The grin on Crocodile's face had little actual humour to it. "Do you believe in the end justifying the means?"

Dragon thought of it long and hard. In the end, Crocodile never found out if it was because of mutual benefit or old times' sake that he finally agreed. "I'll ask Ivankov to..."

"No, not Ivankov. He'll know. Someone who doesn't think too much."

"Very well." Dragon's voice was quiet, but clear. "I hope you know I'll never tell anyone. The World Government is my enemy, too."

Actual humour entered Crocodile's grin just then and only made it more unnerving. "Such a demanding position you're in... and here I only add to your burden."

Dragon seemed to consider the man before him. Crocodile wasn't sure he liked the look on his face. Too personal. Too close... too close to pity. "You're always welcome as an ally in the Revolutionary Army," he said, tone thankfully neutral and businesslike. "We can work on Alabasta together."

It occurred to Crocodile that Dragon was offering friendship and couldn't help but resent him for it. "Join the army, get revenge on the world." Try as he might, he couldn't hide the spite in his voice. "And all your wounds will be as nothing."

"I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do."

This time it was the neutral tone that got to Crocodile. He felt a rising anger claw its way up from beneath layers upon layers of wavering self-control and the pleads of the rational side of his mind. "It's not for my sake that you fight the World Government. It's for the world's sake." He was down to the last two inches of his cigar and dropped it in the ashtray with little thought to elegance or appearances. "I'm a pirate, Dragon. What benefit is there for me in joining your global charity organisation?"

"...if you don't see any value in what we do, none." Dragon might as well have sighed with the traces of disappointment lingering on his face. "I'll have someone bring you everything you need. Will you join me on the deck?"

Not trusting himself to say anything he wouldn't regret later, Crocodile nodded. Dragon hid the envelope in his cloak and led the way, already calling for someone. Outside blew a fierce wind that made Crocodile somewhat glad he hadn't brought a freshly lit cigar with him; yet something about its fury felt reassuring, as though Crocodile could trust it to rage in his stead when he needed to be calm and calculating. A pair of wings affixed to the mainmast fluttered in the assault.

Dragon seemed to be done giving instructions during the moment Crocodile stared thoughtfully at the odd decoration. "What of your dream?" he asked suddenly, possibly as a last resort.

"What of it?" A feather was torn off and carried away. Crocodile lowered his eyes to his old ally. "Pirate King is the one with so much freedom in this world that nothing or no one can touch him. I ruined my chances, didn't I?" Absence of anger soothed the lines of his smile. "But I have new goals now. New... plans."

The smile Dragon gave in return was full of his usual sternness. That too was reassuring. The wind changed direction abruptly, clinging to his cloak, and something disappeared from his eyes as they turned to the east. Crocodile paid little attention to this; someone was coming, if not to bring the information he had paid for, then at least to take him where it was stored.

Feeling the east wind sweep across his deck in the New World, too many years later to recall any relevance to it, Crocodile nevertheless thought of Dragon again. He and his crew had just boarded the ship, and already the worms were moving in on the ravaged city that had had the misfortune to remind him of Alabasta. With the gates and the trained guards gone, the civilians wouldn't last long against the beasts. That was the problem with unaffiliated islands like this; either they were too remote and irrelevant to interest the World Government and left to fend for themselves, or they thought themselves strong enough to be independent and inevitably fell when they turned out to be anything but.

Well, it was a problem for _them_, not Crocodile. Unlike certain other people he knew, he was more concerned with liberating assets than people. He turned his back to the island and was about to head for his cabin when he was reminded of something far more important he needed taken care of in the New World.

He wasn't sure if it had happened during the battle or right after it; he hadn't really been paying attention and felt slightly angry at himself for it. At some point, whatever had rattled inside the base of his hook earlier had finally come loose. He would have to visit the weaponsmith as soon as possible.

"Where's Daz?" he asked casually of no one in particular.

"Went to get bandages," said the nearest crewmate and carried on doing his part with storing the loot.

In the doctor's cabin, then, and as he was the only one allowed to disturb the captain in his, there shouldn't be any interruptions from the crew. Crocodile headed below deck, already trying to recall the mechanics of the base and whether it was possible to apply some temporary fix without taking the whole thing apart.


	5. Something That Wants Fixing

"_I've got a... skin condition, let's put it that way. I can't expose the scar to light."_

"_Oh, right. Been to one of them tropical islands or something, have you?"_

_Crocodile grinned. His story was practically making itself up. "Sounds like this is not new to you."_

"_People need to cover up all sorts of injuries here, acid spit, plant bites... you wouldn't believe what kinds of things can attack you in the New World. As for me, I figure if you have to hide something, you might as well put a weapon on it." The smith cackled. "And then of course you get the weird ones who can't just be satisfied with a sword."_

Giving the hook a tentative shake, Crocodile felt the piece of mechanism move about again. Somewhere above the handle, bad place. It would be a problem if it was the part that had to do with controlling the hook attachments. He'd have to inspect it, though, even at the risk of not being able to reattach the hooks afterwards; better do it now than regret being too careful later when the mechanism would inevitably fall apart in battle. It was a fine weapon, very impressive work to have lasted so long through so much use, but it had finally taken one blow too many.

_"Here, what about this one? I just finished it," said the smith, picking up a large gauntlet shaped like a crab claw. _

_Crocodile tried to imagine how it would fit with anything he liked to wear. "Something smaller... it's only the back of my hand that I have to protect, after all."_

_"Hmm, true. I actually got something nobody's wanted so far, but it's really a decent little weapon."_

_"Let's see it, then."_

The golden hook disconnected normally, as did the replacement for the original poison hook. Crocodile was close to his cabin now and looked up from his inspection to make sure no one was nearby before releasing the knife. His caution turned out to be unnecessary as nothing came out. He had actually expected the blade itself to be knocked loose and fly out when he released the trigger, but he only felt the weak trill of the spring trying to do something and then there was nothing. And to think that the hook was without a scratch on the surface. He remembered some of the more recent blows he had blocked with it and how his arm had shaken afterwards, but the surface had remained pristine.

_It was still quite a large weapon, but at least one that ended at his wrist. And it was golden. Maybe a bit too much of a good thing, but Crocodile couldn't help admiring the shining surface. Besides, he didn't have to wear it all the time..._

_"A tad too much, is it?" the smith asked, sounding like a parent who was quite fond of his little brat but could see why other people might think differently._

_"I'd like to try it on."_

The hooks reconnected to the base without problems. Crocodile couldn't deny he had almost been holding his breath before that happened; gloves or no, going without the hook around his crew would have raised questions he didn't care to answer. So it was just the knife he only used as a last resort anyway. He didn't like the possibility of being forced to that point and not being able to play that last card, but at least he wasn't completely weaponless while making his way back to the smith.

He wondered what the man would say when he finally saw his little pet project again. Probably yell at Crocodile a bit for not bringing it back for check-ups until it broke. Somehow the thought didn't offend Crocodile, not when he imagined it coming from the man who had been able to make such a weapon in the first place.

_"Well now. It really seems to agree with you," the smith murmured. The proud parent tone was back in full force, and he had clearly found someone worthy of taking his baby out to the world._

_Crocodile, for his part, said nothing. He tested the weight of the hook one more time, pleased with the effortless swing. Even the too bright artificial lights glimmered beautifully on its bands._

Crocodile removed the hook again, base and all, and flexed the fingers of his left hand while trying to peer inside. Well, there were better light sources in his cabin. He entered quickly and locked the door behind him. Not that he expected to be able to do anything about the knife like this, but he wanted to at least see if anything in there had to be taken out.

And stopped dead in his tracks at the "I thought I'd have a look at your arm too" that greeted him. A fresh dressing and bandage roll on his desk, Daz next to them with his already treated scratches, still picking at one of them and Crocodile froze so completely he couldn't even wish that his first mate would never look up. A blink of an eye later was too late, and of course he looked.

_I was the one who told him he's allowed in._

All Crocodile could save in that situation was his facade of indifference. Just the surface. It was too late to scramble for his hook, so he stood stone still as Daz's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the foreign sight of Crocodile's left hand, pressed to the suddenly too cold metal.

And he saw.


	6. The Treachery Survives The Traitor

_Apparently the man who barged in when Crocodile tried to sleep in the seemingly abandoned shack by the woods had read his paper early; he was shouting something about escaped slaves even before Crocodile raised his left hand to shield his eyes from the light and proved him right. It had been stupid to stop on an island this close to Mariejois right after it had been torched to the ground, but what was Crocodile supposed to do? He was too tired and malnourished to drift on the sea much longer._

_Not too tired and malnourished to quickly silence the shouting man, though._

Daz stood up, lips slightly parted as though he was still going to say something. As though he dared to say something about this.

_Another man that caught him without gloves when he stumbled from one island to the next became another body in his wake. Before leaving, Crocodile robbed his corpse. How nostalgic._

By hesitating to break the silence, Crocodile had already failed to conceal his anxiety at having been found out again. No further damage done in openly glowering at Daz, then.

_The small colony of escaped slaves on the island where Crocodile had tried to find a better ship - he had thought there was something suspicious about their relationship with the nearby Marines, and yet he had shown them his own brand in a desperate bid for solidarity. When they turned him in to the Marines as part of some shady deal, he slaughtered them to the last slave and soldier and stole everything he could carry into their best warship. Well, it was one way to carry out negotiations._

"Your concern is noted, but I can take care of it myself." Forcing his legs into motion, he stalked to the desk and laid down the hook. It was with burning humiliation that he realised just how hard he had been gripping the weapon. Something of it filtered into the cold scowl aimed at Daz. "You know. With my own two hands."

"...yes, boss."

_It had taken him quite a lot of detective work to find the Marines who had come to his ship back then. It had been with proportionate satisfaction that he took their lives, one by one by..._

"That means I can do it alone." He could see reluctance in the way Daz fought the urge to look down again, mutiny in the way his muscles tensed as he pointedly refused to move. Something cold and steady ran through Crocodile's bloodstream and it wasn't determination. "Leave," he said, voice barely above a hiss.

Daz turned his head away first, a hard look in his eyes the only sign of emotion he couldn't suppress. His body was slow to follow, but somehow Crocodile held out until he heard the door shut behind him. He exhaled slowly and calmly sat down, surprised he could still do that in full cooperation with his legs.

Well, then.

_He felt safer when the weaponsmith was done adjusting the hook for him. Safer, and readier. Some part of him still wasn't looking forward to finding his crewmates, but having the hook with him helped. _

_Even so, he couldn't help looking down on the ones that hadn't even bothered to relocate after the news from Mariejois. These were the people he had survived a war with, and now they were just about asking to be butchered. He obliged every single one of them, telling himself it was relief from anger that slowly carved him hollow death by death. There would be plenty of time for replenishment later._

He knew what to do and had done it before. No doubt Daz would soon inform the rest of the crew of the enormous liability they sailed with, and then he would have to... And then he would be at the starting point again, sailing alone in a world he had turned into his enemy. Getting a new crew, starting all over again. This time really never letting his guard down again.

All humans crawl before they learn to walk. How many times was he going to let himself be struck back down on his knees before he learned his lesson?

Crocodile leaned back in his chair, carefully so as not to have to admit he was ready to collapse into it. It would be best to get up and be done with it before they could get the drop on him. _Start all over._ His hands actually trembled when he tried to light a cigar; he dropped a few matches before succeeding. _All the way from the beginning._ His shoulders shook with mirthless laughter. They had sailed together for quite some time now. Maybe he should let them initiate it. Only fair.

_"Do you ever get tired of this, though?" Crocodile asked Dragon just before he left. "This world is a great enemy to make."_

_Dragon shrugged. "Much of the world is on our side, too." His strength had always seemed impossible to Crocodile. "Be sure to make allies out there."_

_With a laugh, Crocodile boarded his new ship. "Sure."_

Crocodile wasn't a young man anymore, and he had already once resigned himself to staying down after his last shattering defeat. It would just take a little longer to recover from this one, but he could do it. Do it to protect himself while he still could. Betray before he was betrayed. "Daz, too..."

He sank into his chair, barely tasting the smoke on his tongue. Wound before he was wounded. Kill before he was killed. He closed his eyes, finally giving in to the exhaustion.

Daz, too.

* * *

Getting pretty close to the last chapter here! The next one will have a bit of violence in it, not sure if it's bad enough to raise the rating yet. Oh, and disclaimer: the chapter title is a reference to Your Treachery Will Die With You by Dying Fetus. Would've made for a nice songfic, bwaha.


	7. The Holy Land, Mariejois

It had been a beautiful city once, or as much of it as Crocodile had been able to see before being brought into one of the buildings. After that, he hadn't been out much. It could have been worse. He could have been one of the slaves on mount duty, and he had little interest in being seen by anyone who might recognise him from before or remember him later when he got out of this place.

Or that was what he thought when he still expected to be able to get out. Right now, with the city on fire and him still chained to the house of the man who had bought him, he was starting to have doubts about surviving this one. Still, it had been a beautiful city once. It would become much more so without its inhabitants.

"...the bearers of sacred blood! The descendants of the world's founding kings! Lowlife scum coming in like they have any right to even breathe our air..."

Crocodile could only watch the noble's tirade with disgust. Usually he at least had a malicious sort of intellect that made him almost bearable when he committed his atrocities. Collar or no, there was no way Crocodile would be able to hide his contempt if this wretched imbecile carried on like this.

"My sons! My sons who have never been tainted by the presence of those beasts..."

"What do you care? Buy new sons. Intelligent ones, preferably."

"Quiet, animal!" The noble threw an exquisitely decorated vase at Crocodile. It shattered against the wall next to his head. Could have fed a small island with it, or maybe bought Crocodile a new suit. "Their purity must be preserved, for the sake of the blood of this world's creators..."

"What have the likes of you ever created? Or you? You've made two inbred bastards who can barely write their own names. Still, I doubt their blood looks very different from yours or mine when it's spilled." Crocodile's mouth twisted in a cruel grin. "Shouldn't be long now. I'll be sure not to die before I see all of you go first."

The noble's boot cracked into Crocodile's jaw, not hard enough to hurt him under normal circumstances, but fatigue and hunger and the seastone embedded in the sole were too much together. Crocodile glared at him like he would at something he had stepped on, so full of distaste that he looked down on him even when he was forced to look up.

"Subhuman filth," spat the noble. "You who are not worthy of licking the soles of my shoes, you _dare_..."

Crocodile's eyes flashed red in the glare of the flames already licking at the arched windows. "Don't put yourself above me. Your kind is nowhere near my level."

This time it was the noble's rings digging into Crocodile's flesh as he struck him hard with the back of his hand. "My kind is everything," he hissed, voice barely steady with the anger and fear of the fire rattling it. "Our power is absolute. Nothing in this world turns or stills without our knowledge."

"Then stop this fire. Save yourself from your killer."

"Shut up, shut _up_!" The noble wrapped his fingers round Crocodile's neck; the seastone in the rings made his jaw go numb and raised the steady thud of his pulse into a heavy, distressed throb. "I can do anything... anything." A gemstone had fallen loose from the shards of the vase. He took it, hovering above Crocodile's face. "To you, to the inhuman slime crawling out there..."

The gem was damaged, jagged on one side. It bit through the flesh of Crocodile's temple like a fish hook and ate its way across his face in a straight, precise line, facing little resistance from his skin. Crocodile's jaw was pushed up, and the blood poured into his eyes.

"Look at you talk, slave. What can you do to stop me?" A few drops fell from the now stained stone. Something nearby broke with a loud crack. "You think I'll allow you to say what you want just because there's vermin on the streets. Make no mistake: the cleaners will come, and my house will remain untainted." Bending down again, he put the gem above Crocodile's left eye.

Crocodile could barely breathe with the rage of the sea at his throat, but he managed to raise a hand and grab the noble's wrist. "It'll be you before me."

A wall fell down behind them, but the noble reached for the chain of Crocodile's bomb collar. He was there one moment, then suddenly gone the next; Crocodile blinked blood out of his eyes, trying to see what had happened, and was pressed back to the floor by hands much larger and rougher than his.

"Stay still. I'll unlock this." The collar fell on the floor, harmless. The man's features were clearer now. A fishman. So full of strength to level a whole city like this, so full of violence. Crocodile would have smiled if his face hadn't hurt so much where it had been split.

"Am I next?"

The fishman paused. He had a stern look in his eyes. "I'm freeing all the slaves. You, too."

"Free..."

"You should leave as quickly as possible."

Crocodile blinked slowly, as if in agreement. He pushed himself up despite the throbbing in his head; the fishman was already leaving, and Crocodile called after him to ask him a question. The answer he got left him both taken aback and with a confused reawakening of hope he hadn't known he had buried.

"Damn dirty fish in my house..." mumbled the noble although the fishman was gone. Crocodile staggered to him, impressed with the way the thick wall had bent and cracked where the noble's body had been slammed into it.

"Your sons... they're in their hiding room, right?"

"You're not touching them..." The noble drew his gun pathetically slowly. Crocodile turned his back to him and walked to the opposite wall. The bullet went through his head; he had missed the feeling.

"Behind here, am I correct?" Ignoring the noble's sickening whines, Crocodile laid his hand on the wall. The devil's power stirred inside him once more. The room beyond collapsed, and the loud but short screams coming from the other side were proof enough that he had remembered correctly.

"I'll have you gutted and stuffed like an animal!" screamed the noble as if in actual pain.

"You'll show me where you keep your documents and valuables," Crocodile replied, rolling up the tattered sleeves of his shirt. There had better be clothes he could fit into in the house. "If you won't, I'll search for them myself and take my time killing you."

When he was done with the house and its master, Crocodile stepped into the surprisingly soothing weather outside. It was nice and warm even without the fire feeding on the ancient buildings, and what little sky he could see from the roaring flames suggested it was a good day for sailing. The wound on his face still glistened with fresh blood, but he would take care of that later. His legs turned into sand and dispersed, and he flew...

Back in his cabin on his ship, Crocodile caught himself touching the scar as though it still hurt. His hook remained on the desk, leaving his other scar uncovered. He supposed there was no reason to bother with that anymore, but he would still need the hook as a weapon. Any minute now.

There was a knock at the door, and it was opened before he could say anything. That's right... he hadn't even got up to lock it again.

"Boss?"

Crocodile found himself unable to reply. It made no difference. Daz would come in no matter what he did now.


	8. Set Sail

"It'll be a while before we're getting food, so I thought..." Daz closed the door suspiciously gently. He probably hadn't told anyone yet, Crocodile guessed, and had a different plan in the works. Blackmail, most likely. That would be new; so far Crocodile hadn't run across anyone he couldn't afford to kill, so there hadn't been anyone who could hold this above his head after finding out.

If Daz hadn't become someone he couldn't afford to kill, he would never have become so careless in the first place, and now he wouldn't have to do what he couldn't. Let the assassin have his say first, though. If only to delay the inevitable.

Daz moved the medical supplies out of the way, not even brushing at the hook even though it took up a lot of space, and laid a tray on the desk. So that's how he was going to go about this, beginning with a familiar ritual to soften Crocodile up before dropping the act and getting down to business. Crocodile rotated the cigar in his left hand slowly, much like he did when lighting one, and blew out a stream of smoke while watching Daz work.

"Show me the cups first," he said. His voice wasn't as authoritative as he would have liked, but at least it was even. Daz looked up at him, suppressing something again, and showed the cups to Crocodile. Nothing in them he could see at a glance, so he nodded and Daz poured the coffee.

"Put sugar in yours, too." This time Daz didn't even look up, but the lines of his mouth hardened. Crocodile thought of having milk with his coffee to make it fair before catching himself. Instead, he took his cup and sincerely intended to drink from it. He couldn't.

"Who was it?" Daz asked. At Crocodile's blank expression, he cast a vague glance in the general direction of his own left hand.

"Oh..." The coffee was pleasantly warm. Not a complete waste, then. "Just some World Noble."

Daz raised his cup to his lips. Combined with the milk, the addition of sugar seemed to make it too sweet for him. He drank anyway. "Which one?"

"A dead one." Crocodile wanted to grin. He could barely move his mouth enough to talk. "Everyone involved is dead but me."

Somewhat satisfied with this answer, Daz drank some more of his coffee with a faint grimace. Crocodile was wholly unused to how much not being able to figure him out disturbed him. Giving up on his own coffee, he put the cup back on the tray and tried to concentrate on his cigar. It still tasted vaguely stale to him.

"I've normally made sure to kill everyone who got involved."

A spark of an emotion flickered in Daz's eyes and was wiped out just as soon as it had blinked into existence. "Normally?"

Crocodile had given up on the cigar too, but he wasn't sure his hand wouldn't tremble when he reached for the ashtray. "Too much of a risk," he murmured. "Apart from Dragon, I disposed of them all for my own protection. Which brings me to my question..." It was getting distressingly clear to him he desperately wanted to give up on protecting himself as well. The cost increased with each year he continued living; perhaps this one would be easier to pay. "What do you want?"

There was unbound bewilderment on Daz's face now, bordering on disbelief. "Want?"

"For your silence."

Funnily enough, silence was the exact thing that followed Crocodile's words then. The look on his face was dead serious when he glanced at Daz to make sure he had heard him. It was clear that he had; he had never once let Crocodile catch him with that much anger in his eyes before.

"Why am I supposed to want something for my silence?" he growled, marking the first time Crocodile had heard that much anger in his voice as well.

"You don't expect me to believe you'll keep it to yourself out of the goodness of your heart, do you?"

Daz nearly dropped his cup on the desk in an attempt not to slam it down. "I expect you to believe your first mate has his captain's best interests in mind," he said, and his voice actually shook now. "I expect you to believe I'm not trying to sabotage the whole crew with petty betrayal while we're out in the New World, trying to stay alive long enough to get from one island to the next. I..."

Crocodile's eyes were cold now, his indifference given strength by the fact that Daz had been the one to lose his composure. "So it's just that it wouldn't be beneficial to you right now?"

The look Daz gave him then was so full of rage Crocodile wasn't sure he wouldn't just attack him right there and then. That would have actually made it easier for him, so of course Daz looked away and withdrew behind his expressionless shield, the rhythm of his breath the only indication of the turmoil he was in. He rubbed his eyes slowly, trying and failing to calm himself down. Nevertheless, his voice was steady when he spoke again. "Why is Dragon the only one who can know your secret and not betray you?"

To his horror, Crocodile felt a sudden pain cross his face. "The world is his enemy, too. There's no benefit in it for him."

Daz sighed and nodded. When he said nothing for several seconds, Crocodile assumed he would just think it over and get back to him when he was good and ready. He let his eyes wander, looking anywhere but in the direction of his first mate, and told himself things would eventually go in his favour again.

There was a small clicking sound from Daz's lighter, drawing Crocodile's attention back to him. One of his fingers turned into a blade, which he placed above the small flame. "What are you doing?" Crocodile spat.

Daz said nothing. The lighter's fire was surprisingly powerful, and the tip of his finger already glowed light orange with its heat. He turned it a little, inspecting his progress.

"Answer me."

Daz was satisfied with the results and took his finger off the flame. He then carefully shaped the sharp tip to his satisfaction as well and pressed it on his first knuckle. His flesh hissed at the contact.

"What the hell are you..." Crocodile nearly shouted, and Daz moved the blade finger to the next knuckle. It left a claw mark in his skin, a perfect companion for the one already made. Soon there was a third one, and it was then that Crocodile understood. "Stop that!"

"Why should I?" Daz asked, forming a circular saw with his fingers. For the circle, of course. "The world can be my enemy, too."

Crocodile grabbed Daz's wrist with enough raw strength that it actually made him flinch, the slave brand on the back of his hand a stark reminder of the idiocy Daz had been about to commit. "You're a naive goddamn fool to be that flippant about it," he yelled, his self-control gone without a trace. "If you knew what happens when people see... if you knew its meaning..."

The circle was still there, just in need of heating before it could be used. "I know what it means. Not from experience..."

"Then stop!"

"...but I'll have that experience if that's what I have to do."

Crocodile stared at his own hand. Just a scar he had planned on conquering alone. "Don't." The world was an enormous place, its oceans without end. That vastness was filled with unfathomable loneliness disturbed by an occasional light in the dark, the light of other people unafraid to sail together no matter what wounds they carried. "Don't," Crocodile repeated, and felt diminished by the plea finally coming through in his voice. He had hidden in the dark most of his life. There was nothing in the light for him but uncertainty.

"All right," Daz finally said, the hand Crocodile held on to returning to normal. The other remained scarred. With great effort, Crocodile let go of him and fell back into his chair. "Your arm's still..." Daz continued, reaching for the bandages.

"You're thinking of that now?"

"Just let me see how bad the cut is." Without waiting for permission, Daz unfastened the cuff of Crocodile's sleeve and rolled it up. "It's very shallow. I'll clean and bind it."

Crocodile let out a laugh. "This is what we have a doctor for." Working silently, Daz was done before Crocodile could protest again. "And this is seriously the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do," Crocodile muttered, poking at the fresh burns on Daz's knuckles.

"I regret nothing."

"Shut up." Crocodile rolled his sleeve back down despite the fact he would soon have to change into a shirt without blood on it. "And give me those bandages while you're at it. Your hand looks terrible."

_He called after the fishman whose name he wouldn't learn until much later, when he was able to steal a newspaper as he fled. Perhaps it was sheer opportunism in his weakened state; perhaps he had secretly been touched by the fact that someone in this world would stop to save him, even if it was just because he stopped to save everyone there. Perhaps his need for companionship hadn't been completely washed away yet._

_"Let me come with you," Crocodile said. As an equal or accepting the man as his captain, whatever. It wouldn't be the first time; he could contain his ego for now. "We could both be useful to each other."_

_Fisher Tiger's eyes turned hard. "I'm letting all the slaves free," he said, "but I can't work with a human." Was that a glint of sadness in his eyes? "I'm sorry."_

_It was only once he was safely out of Mariejois that Crocodile stopped to think of the implications of what Fisher Tiger had said. The fishman probably hadn't thought much of his word choice, but its effect on Crocodile was more profound than he could stand to admit to himself._

_Human. He had called him a human._

_Tiring of the sight of the Holy Land in flames, Crocodile turned to the clear blue horizon, eyes briefly staying on his now covered left hand. There wasn't a single human in the ranks of the slaves in Mariejois. There were only slaves, who could only dream of being treated with the humanity the nobles would sooner show to a sewer rat. Of course Crocodile hadn't believed in any of that. The weight of the years spent up there nevertheless took their toll on him. To finally hear someone else acknowledge what he knew to be the truth, after all this time..._

_He laughed, and the ocean surrounding him swallowed his voice. He had been given strength to sail the seas of the world again, even if he had to do it alone; it was sickening bright hope, after all, that wouldn't die no matter how hard he or the world stomped on it._

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That's all, folks, thanks for reading! Now to wait for the official Croc backstory which I'm sure will be nothing like this._..  
_


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